


From Hell With Endless Dream

by MartianSquid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Background Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dubious Morality, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Katsuki Yuuri in Russia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Teen Crush, Yuri Plisetsky Is a Katsuki Yuuri Fan, Yuri is 16, Yuuri Tries His Best to be Good, technically not underage but I tagged it anyway to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartianSquid/pseuds/MartianSquid
Summary: Yuuri's move to Russia has mostly been smooth. Except for some reason, Yurio hates him again. Yuuri wants to know why, and gets an answer that... Explains a lot, actually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to spoil anything, but I will note that this isn't an infidelity fic (this is elaborated on later)

St. Petersburg is different than Yuuri had imaged.

Well, most things aren’t. It’s still Russia, he gets to live with Viktor, see him every day, practice his routines until his feet feel like they might fall off… All of that is great. Some days he’s miserable, but even when he’s miserable, he’s happier than he’s ever been.

No, the real shock is…

“No more hand-holding, _fatso_.” Yuri growls at him after a practice, “You can’t just rely on Viktor anymore.”

Yuri hates him again.

“Yurio, I-“ They’re home now — living together had seemed like such a good idea, they are all friends, they all have the same passions and goals, and are proud to help each other out. Or, at least, they _were_.

“I shouldn’t have bothered.” The teen stomps off, slamming the door to his room.

Not bothered. Yuuri knows he means about encouraging him not to retire. Shouldn’t have bothered with his impassioned display that had shouted _if you retire, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life._

For no other reason than because he cared. At the time, it shifted Yuuri’s entire world. Made his heart swell.

This cuts deep. Yurio was always rude, assertive, competitive but he hasn’t been outright _mean_ since the bathroom in Sochi more than a year ago. Sure, Yuuri had messed up his quads in practice today, but he didn’t think it was that bad…

Maybe he can apologize, and Yurio will back off. Or they can at least return to amicable rivalry. Still, it’d been months, and things had only gotten progressively more tense. Had he done something? Wondering like this isn’t good for Yuuri’s anxiety, so he decides to gird his loins and just out and _talk_.

He knows he has to say something when Viktor is out — while his beloved is wonderful in so, so many ways, he does have a habit of injecting himself into serious conversations, and derailing them.

He gets his chance not too long after this.

Viktor is on a small tour, doing another interview about his comeback. Yakov has begrudgingly agreed to give him the day off wherever publicity is concerned: gaining popularity back after a season away is tough, even for the world’s shining star. For the most part, Yuuri is happy for him, though the rink feels colder than it should be with him absent. Sometimes, he’s alone in their bed for whole nights, Viktor coming in from parties and promos late into the next day.

It doesn’t help that Yurio almost entirely ignores him, save for sharp comments, even though they share an apartment.

“H-hey, Yurio, wait.” Yuuri stammers. He and Yuri had gotten home about an hour ago, and the teen was in the process of recoiling into his room, trying to effectively isolate himself from any chance at conversation. “I-I’m sorry about… Not trying hard enough, but… since I’m going to be living here for the foreseeable future…” Yuuri swallows, “We should probably make a better effort to get along during practice…”

Yuri throws an annoyed look over his shoulder, his body turning slowly to follow it, one hand stuck fast on his bedroom door, “And what do you suggest we do, Katsudon?”

“I’m not entirely sure there’s a simple solution.” There’s a beat, Yurio is just _staring_ at Yuuri, in that way that he does, completely unreadable, minus the resting annoyance. “I think we just have to work on-”

“You could just fuck me.”

The words don’t make sense. Had Yuuri fallen asleep, a lucid dream gone on a rampage? He can’t have heard that right. He’s fallen asleep in the middle of the conversation, and smacked his head on the floor.

Regardless, his face burns, the hair on the back of his neck bristles, “Excuse me- what?”

Yuri rolls his eyes, unzipping his hoodie, shrugging it onto the floor, “I should hope you know where everything goes, I don’t feel like walking anyone else through it.”

“I…” Yuuri’s mouth goes dry, brain sputtering to a halt. Yurio has already shed his first layer, and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it aside, gaze fixed on the older man the entire time, expression unchanged.

It’s what Yuuri’s _wanted_ , maybe a little, and hidden, given his age and his _own_ conflicts, but… Not like this. Never like this.

Wait, anyone _else?_

“Just hurry up and do it, if you’re going to.” Yurio tilts his head to the side, baring his neck, eyes dispassionately looking at the wall, “I’m tired.”

But it’s more than “tired.” Yurio’s eyes look so… dead. An expression that would be misplaced on someone of Yuuri’s own age, and yet. In this moment, Yuuri can see past Yurio’s acerbic shielding… _He’s broken. Ancient._

“Yurio-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You shouldn’t even have-”

“ _Shut up, old man_.” The younger man hisses, stomping his foot in frustration, “What? Do you need me to strip more for you to get it up?”

_You’re sixteen,_ Yuuri wants to say, but the teen isn’t allowing him a word in edgewise, _You shouldn’t even know about these things_.

Yurio glares at him, one-handedly shoving Yuuri full in the chest, “You’re taking too long. Do you want me or not?”

But before Yuuri could answer, there’s a foot on his chest, kicking him hard, backwards, immediately putting him flat on his ass, knocking his glasses askew. The floor is carpeted, but the fall is harsh enough it crushes the air out of his lungs.

Yuri drops neatly onto Yuuri’s hips, flexible legs folding up, resting his feet on Yuuri’s shoulders, “Maybe this will be easier.”

Yuuri is losing his mind. None of this made any sense. He knew that Yurio’s often harsh words were hiding his affections, but… This is extreme. More than Yuuri’s ever really had to deal with.

“You have more stamina than me, right? Viktor’s always bragging about your extensive free skate. I’m going to hope that extends elsewhere.” He leans over, close enough to hiss over his ear, “But I doubt it.”

“Yurio, wait, I don’t-“

“You don’t want me, then?” Yuri asks, giving his hips a confident roll.

“It’s not that, I just-”

“Then shut-”

“ _Let me talk!_ ” Yuuri finally snaps, yelling, shoving Yurio back forcefully, long legs flying back. He has been quiet, reserved, nervous, caught up in a situation and letting it stay that way. It’s how he is. But this is too much.

It’s enough to make Yurio blink, stunned by the sudden aggression from the last person he’d expect such behavior from. And in that moment, the fire in him dying down, that he feels some sense of shame, the cool air on his bare back, “Fine. Talk.”

He fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest, thus showing any sign of weakness.

Yuuri sighs, readjusting his glasses, propping himself up on his elbows, “Can we just… slow down a moment?”

Yurio grunts, eyes cast to the side, “That’s not how this works.”

“It’s how it works with _me_.” Yuuri sits up, placing his hands on Yurio’s shoulders, “I… I’m still pretty new at this.”

It’s the first thing Katsuki’s said in a while that actually _shocks_ Yurio, stirring something deeper in his heart. He tries to crush it down, only the slightest touch of blush betraying his feelings, “Like I could believe Viktor Nikiforov’s fiancé to be _new_ at any of this.”

“I-it’s true…” Yuuri’s heart slows, placing a hand over Yurio’s, the latter twitching away. Yuuri lets it go, trying to navigate an endless, blind void. “It wasn’t until a few months ago that we…” He blushes hard, train of thought falling like a lead weight, the way he does whenever aspects of his relationship with Viktor become  _any_ sort of public knowledge.

“No one before that?”

“I was always too busy with skating…”

“Tch.” Yurio grunts, “So I _do_ have to walk you through it.”

“Who says we’re going to do it at all?”

“But you-” Yurio cuts himself off, gesturing around, the situation explaining his irritation by itself.

“ _You_ put me on the floor.” Katsuki points out, offering a reassuring, nervous smile, “I guess _you_ haven’t been too preoccupied.”

For a split second, Yuri scowls, then reigns it in, “I haven’t. But we’re not fucking, right?”

Yuuri leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Yuri’s cheek, unsure of what to say. The meaning is clear: pity, melancholy, rejection.

Yuri swallows hard, shame finally creeping in, folding his arms over his chest, though not quite ready to stand up, “Why not?”

“You’re sixteen,” Katsuki whispers, “What kind of person would that make me?”

Yuri rolls his eyes; he says that like it’s some grand revelation, a dirty secret, “If you think that’s a real reason, maybe I don’t want to anyway.”

“I thought you were indifferent?” Yuuri teases, lightly poking Yuri’s side.

Yuri tenses up, a shiver going down his spine. Touch. Affection, genuine fondness, even if platonic… And maybe he’s a bit ticklish, “Well, a moment ago, I was getting worked up… but whatever.”

“It’s so easy for you…” Yuuri laments softly, “I need more than that.”

Emotional connection, without it, sex didn’t even cross Yuuri’s mind. Viktor has always been attractive to him, yes, even as a child… But when he’d shown up, naked in Hasetsu, he’d been too embarrassed by his advances to take any of them to heart. Yuuri was a little more nuanced now from experience — he could at least recognize affections, even if he couldn’t return them.

“Like what?” Yurio hazards the question, leaning in.

“Fishing now?” Yuuri breathily giggles, pulling Yuri flush against his chest in a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder. The younger man grumbles, but doesn’t move. “Here, I’ll tell you… let’s get off the floor first.”

Katsuki slides out from under Yuri’s knees, popping up to his feet, offering his hand to the teen still not he ground. Begrudgingly, Yuri takes the hand, one arm still slung over his chest, blushing furiously, eyes affixed on the ground.

Yuuri doesn’t let go of his hand, instead lacing their fingers together, pulling Yuri along — into his _own_ room, no less, “I’m getting mixed messages, Katsudon.”

“I figured you’d rather not come to our room.” Yuuri says in a humming lilt, not really answering the question.

_Right. Our room. Viktor’s and yours._ Yuri swallows, wondering what he should take from that, “Right.”

Yuuri sits down on the bed, leading Yuri by the hand until he’s beside him. Too close beside him. Close enough to feel his warmth, and it’s driving the younger man a little insane, “I thought we weren’t- why…”

“There was something I needed to know first.” Yuuri smiles, and it’s one of the best sights Yurio has ever been treated to: it’s hard to be indignant, though he makes his best effort.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Compared to his usual bravado, it’s hollow, diffused.

Yuuri brings up his free hand to brush the hair out of Yurio’s face, tucking it behind his ear. The older man’s eyes take on a shimmer, “If you loved me.”

In this moment, shirtless, sitting on his bed with the man he’d so desperately trying to deny he had any feelings for (that he’d nearly convinced himself of), Yuri is speechless. Too vulnerable. Saying no, saying _anything_ probably would’ve worked better than the shuttering _blank_ those words drew from the depths of his mind. Yuuri takes it as a sign to keep going.

“You were so cold, indifferent about sleeping with me… if it was real, then no, I didn’t want any part of this.” Yuuri’s hand slides down, over one of Yuri’s shoulders, drawing him in, “Because I love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in this chapter, but it's not ~gratuitous~

Yuri isn’t prepared for a the moment their lips touch. Yuuri is kissing him so gently that it could break his heart. It _is_ breaking his heart. He’s warm, and soft, and his hands are playing with his hair and he loves him and Yuri is _crying_. He can’t stop the tears, nor can he stop himself from returning every ounce of passion and affection in the kiss.

Yuuri pulls away, expression asking a silent, _are you okay?_

_No._

“Don’t bore me, Katsudon.” Yuri tries, and mostly fails, to keep the awe out of his voice — as if it’s not the most beautiful, shimmering feeling that’s ever pulsed through him — wiping at his eyes, “You can’t expect me to believe this is how you kiss the old man.”

“… It’s not.”

What that means, exactly, Yuri can’t be sure. Doesn’t want to ask. He grumbles, reddened gaze flitting away, “I’m not going to break.”

“Maybe _I_ will.” Yuuri scoots up on the bed, languidly taking Yuri with him, bringing them both to lay down, arms and legs tangled around each other.

“Katsudon, I…” This is too tender, he needs it rough. His edges are sharp, they’ve always had to be, to ward off people who tried to get to his core, and Katsuki isn’t welcome. Isn’t. Shouldn’t be. Doesn’t _want_ him to be… Except the shell is there, but the malice is gone.

“It’s okay.” Yuuri’s voice is too calm, hope curving around every syllable. Yuri tucks his face into Yuuri’s shoulder, a reassuring hand presses into his back, “It’s okay.”

Is he still crying? He can’t tell anymore. That’s probably why he’s suddenly deserving of Yuuri’s pity. Maybe, for a moment, Yuri can accept it.

Time passes, with each passing second, Yuri feels weaker, as if strength were leaking from his eyes, soaking into Yuuri’s (who has been mercifully silent) shirt. He wants it back, but he can see no logical way to take it, “Yuuri…”

“Mhm?”

“You love me?” It’s a muttered wish into his body, almost hoping for no answer at all. That this is all a nightmare, in which his emotions won’t simmer in silence as he usually prefers.

There’s a pause, Yuuri breathes in a soft gasp, as if steeling his anxious self, “I’ve… always admired you, from the moment I saw you. And… you were always so confident. In ways I never could be, in ways I’m still not. You never let anything distract you, your eyes… always so focused. There was always something ahead, always something you were reaching for, and I…”

He stops, but Yuri doesn’t need him to finish. It’s similar to what Otabek had said, but in cushier, Yuuri-terms. Didn’t use the word “soldier,” but as much is implied — Yuri doesn’t need his praise re-worded.

Otabek. That’s a road Yuri doesn’t feeling like reliving just now.

Closer to ready (for… whatever this is), Yuri looks up, their lips so naturally reconnect, a deep bloom of fire kindles in his chest. Yuuri holds him close, strong, he never wants to leave. Time flows by, stretches into infinity, Yuri doesn’t know how long it is before he’s tugging at the older man’s shirt, the cloth so easily sliding away.

Yuuri isn’t sure how to feel, but he lets it happen. He loves Yurio, treasures him, admires him, wants to protect him from harm… This might be “harm,” but… Is it really? It feels like a long time coming, maybe even since their initial meeting. From what he knows now, that Yurio so often expresses himself and his affections with malice, and his challenges are a declaration of hoping you’re worthy of them…

For better or worse, he lets himself get lost in the moment. Hands roam, his fingers trace the lines of the lithe body beside him, his muscle definition, over his boxers, prying between his legs, rolling atop him, biting his lip as he withdraws, crawling down between Yuri’s legs.

Yuri, watching all of this, almost passively, is stunned, face burning red, eyes traveling down with his intended. This has happened before, yes, many times, but never like this. Seconds pass, Yuuri doesn’t move, and it confuses him, as they’d been moving pretty fluidly until this moment, but-

_Oh_ , realization dawns. Yuuri’s eyes are searching his face, as if asking a question.

“It’s okay,” Yuri answers, feeling even more embarrassed, somehow. It’s always a matter of taking what he wants, the other person taking what they want… Taking in general. Never asking.

Yuuri smiles with one corner of his mouth, something in his face almost… prideful? Yuri is bad with facial expressions sometimes. Especially now, in the throes of what he assumes is lust and equal parts walls being _broken_ on every level (is there a word for such a feeling? He hopes he doesn’t need it often).

Carefully, as if the man beneath him is made of glass, Yuuri peels back the elastic on Yuri’s underwear, pulling them down to his knees, kissing down his thigh as he goes. It tickles, and then it doesn’t, lips leaving a burning trail where they make contact.

He’s not fully hard, the emotional turmoil killing it some, but the way Katsudon is looking at him, that won’t be an issue for very much longer.

Yuri swallows as his hands are taken into Yuuri’s, and then his cock taken into his mouth, he lets out an involuntary groan. He feels tongue, and heat, and gentle licks, the occasional sucking, and _oh_ it’s too much.

He wanted to watch, to hold onto every frame of this memory, as if it’d be the last time he’d see it (he knows it must be), but he gets overwhelmed, heat rising in his throat, muscles contracting involuntarily — his head throws back into the pillow on its own. He comes far too quickly for what he wanted, but with the fire blazing under his eyes, in his cheeks, he can’t help it, can’t bring himself to stop Yuuri.

Yuuri swallows it down, and Yuri can’t help but feel triumphant, even in the haze of pleasure. He’d been _wanted_ by Yuuri Katsuki, the man beside him again, pulling him into a strong embrace. Under a displeased grunt, Yuri allows this, secretly wanting the gentle touch.

He enjoys it for a moment before playfully breaking free, shoving Yuuri on his back, yanking down his pants, swiftly equalizing their states of undress. The man under him doesn’t struggle, though he briefly considers protesting — he hopes Yuri knows he’s not _obligated_ to return the favor.

A single finger is placed under Yuri’s chin, tilting it up to look at Katsuki again, “I’d be happy just to hold you.”

A renewed, deep sense of vigor takes over as the younger man grins, because oh, this is something he’s actually _good_ at (in all the ways love is so foreign), “What if _I’m_ not?”

 

* * *

 

Yuri is drifting, all too aware that Katsuki is wide awake. Probably having some moral crisis… Or crisis in general. The older skater is _always_ having a crisis of some sort, just this time, Yuri knows he’s the cause (not that this is a new experience, either).

He’s draped over Katsuki’s chest, starfished out, head on his pectoral, legs on either side of Yuuri’s hips, spent cock pressed under his belly.

It had been a long time since he’d had any sexual contact at all, and even longer since he hadn’t felt even a tiny hint of shame. It’s hard to feel anything at all besides content, proud, and… loved? Adored?

Okay, the emotional garbage is new, and Plisetsky isn’t sure how to process it, or even what tomorrow might hold. Still, he can’t help but hold onto this _feeling_ … He fills so full, vibrant, warm, sleepy. He’s sure Yuuri will try to sneak away, but his positioning will at least give him some difficulty in achieving this. He’s proud of this, too.

Yuuri, on the other hand, stays silent, an uneven smile stuck on his lips, all from simply looking at Yuri’s dozing face.


	3. Chapter 3

Last night, Yuuri felt at peace.

Now, he feels the full force of his actions hit him like a cargo ship dropped from orbit.

It starts at 5am. Yuuri wakes, after a suspiciously sound sleep, to the Russian teen flopped over his chest. Bare chests.

_Oh_.

Right. That happened. He hadn’t… expected things to go that way, nor had he wanted it to be… Well.

It isn’t even light outside yet, but the urge to bolt into his short program courses into his veins. He feels the prickle of panic at his neck, and the once-comforting weight of Yuri on him, is a crushing reminder of his recklessness. Carefully, so carefully, he inches out from under the teen, shaking hands, trying and failing to keep his breathing even.

To his credit, he doesn’t fall apart until he makes it back to his own room, endlessly thankful that Viktor hadn’t come back last night. That was going to be another… complicated situation. They’d talked about it, yes, but not _practically._

He can’t think about this.

Instead, he takes a shower. Cooks breakfast. Envies Yuri’s deep, coma-like sleep. Starts washing the dishes.

“Are you going to tell him?” A half-annoyed, half-tired voice demands, right in his ear.

Yuuri swallows, hand freezing over the plate he’d been drying. Rightfully, Yuri wants answers. But the older man isn’t sure he has them just yet. “I… sort of already talked to Viktor about it.”

Yuri steps into Yuuri’s peripheral vision, tilting his head in confusion: Viktor still isn’t around, and this didn’t seem like the thing Katsudon would text, or even _call_ about.

“We… have an agreement, on seeing other people. Well…” Yuuri looks away accordingly, neck craned the other way, flushing a deep crimson, “You, mostly.”

For once, Yurio is stunned into silence. It’s a moment before Katsuki works up the courage to continue, the tender quiet as stifling as the awkwardness, “I… well, no, I mean… _He_ knew. At least, about you…” He relaxes his neck, looking back to Yurio, face still planted downward, “Suspected _my_ feelings, I guess…”

Well, what’s Yuri supposed to say to _that_? Suspected _what_? It couldn’t be…

Yuuri finally puts the plate down, hands braced on either side of the sink, staring intently at the drain, “Yuri… listen to me. Really listen.”

Mercifully, the younger man says nothing, does nothing, save for pushing a stray lock of hair out of his face.

“I… didn’t lie, last night. I would never…” “It’s… something I’ve struggled with. I’m not sure when it started, but Viktor… well, he’s got way more experience with this sort of stuff. I guess even you do…” He finally looks up at Yuri, offering a shy, wavering smile, “You’ve probably figured all of that out… He did, and told me… whenever I figured it out for myself… admitted it to myself…” He shakes his head bodily, trying to interrupt his rambling thoughts, “You’re younger than me, I don’t want you to regret anything…”

Hands grab either of his shoulders, pulling him to face Yuri. Swallowing again, he brings himself to make eye contact, the teen affording him a frankly ridiculous amount of patience as he stutters over every movement. Yuri’s eyes are focused, clear, everything Katsuki wishes he could be as the actual adult in this situation.

“Katsudon,” he begins, before amending, “Yuuri.” He considers what he might say, but somewhere, deep in his mind, a sentence appears. One that’s always been there, waiting for this moment, a truth so base he’d almost managed to suppress it, “You were always watching Viktor… while I was watching you.”

The sting of rejection — of more than a year now — wells up inside him again. Everyone looks to Viktor. Russia’s Prince. He even did, for a time. Still, when he’d first seen Katsuki, he didn’t look away. Disappointed when he’d found him crying, yeah, but Yuuri had answered his scorn with breaking records.

And yet, he couldn’t take the older skater’s eyes off of Viktor. Until now.

Possibly. Possibly even longer than that.

“Yuri, I...” He loves him. They’re on the cusp of some greater understanding, he’s not even sure he’s put all of it together, several puzzles’ worth of pieces jumbled together in a pile on the floor, finally sticking two together. Maybe it’s too much.

Their lips meet.


End file.
